


within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king

by ghostofgatsby



Series: I'd kill for you. I'd die for you. I'd live for you. [12]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Drowning, M/M, Multi, Religious Content, Urban Magic Yogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 18:16:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3539252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostofgatsby/pseuds/ghostofgatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sky was bright and the day was hot and perfect for swimming. Sips was reclined in an inflatable raft, floating in the pool of his mansion, clad in only his swim trunks.<br/>A shadow casts over him and he pries opens his eyes with a smirk.<br/>"Ey, Smiffy, you're blocking my sunshine!"<br/>But it's not Smiffy.<br/>In fact, it's someone with a gun.</p><p>(finished fic of my “you’re not supposed to drink the pool water” headcanon)</p>
            </blockquote>





	within the hollow crown that rounds the mortal temples of a king

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Drowning, hospitals, mention of blood, surgery, gunshot wounds, talk of death.  
> talk of Religion and praying, drawn mostly from a Catholic background, because I headcanon Ross with some sort of beliefs and my beliefs stem from that.  
> If there's anything else I need to mention here, let me know.
> 
> “Within the hollow crown  
> That rounds the mortal temples of a king,  
> Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,  
> Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp.”  
> Act III, scene 2, line 161. Shakespeare’s Richard II
> 
> want to reblog this? check out this link: https://ghostofgatsby13.wordpress.com/2015/10/15/within-the-hollow-crown-the-rounds-the-mortal-temples-of-a-king-ghostofgatsby/

“Ah, this is the life.” The king of the garbage court let out a pleased sigh. The ice in his cold glass of Mountain Dew clinked audibly as he took a sip. The sky was bright and the day was hot and perfect for swimming. Sips was reclined in an inflatable raft, floating in the pool of his mansion, clad in only his swim trunks.

It wasn’t often that the businessman got to use it. Not like he was at his mansion much anyway, what with splitting his time at his corporate office, the apartment, or out bowling. But the day was unusually hot in the city, and he had nothing better to do than lay around.

He adjusts the crown-embroidered  baseball cap on his head and closes his eyes behind his sunglasses. The warmth of the sun sank into his skin pleasantly. If he was young maybe he’d worry about getting the perfect tan, but at his age, eh, why give a fuck?

He’d called Trott earlier, and the trio of fae were on their way over. Trott probably wouldn’t swim, disliking the chlorine and how it made him sick. Ross and Smith, inevitably, would probably flip his raft over and engage him in a battle of “how large of a wave can I splash you with”.

Sips had better enjoy the peace while it lasted. **  
**

  

Some point later, a shadow casts over him and he pries opens his eyes with a smirk.

"Ey, Smiffy, you're blocking my sunshine!"

But it's not Smiffy.

In fact, it's someone with a gun.

He can’t say he isn’t surprised, especially when he flinches and his weight shifts, flipping the raft over. His drink is flying out of his hand as the person fires and he sinks into the pool with a splash.

_Shiiiiiit..._

There’s a searing burn in his shoulder as he starts drifting towards the bottom of the pool, paralyzed with pain. He tries to keep his breath in but the air escapes him and he’s thrashing against the smoothness of the pool floor. His sunglasses float off of him and his eyes burn from the chlorine.

Sips watches the shadow of his attacker cross the bottom of the pool and leave towards the garden gate.

The water tastes stale. But in a way, it kind of tastes like Smith and Trott. Some distorted version of sea and moss.

He doesn't clean the pool, he hires someone to do it for him, but he can feel his cheek slide against some algae at the bottom that they need to use shock on. Damn pool caretakers not having the pool spotless all the time...

Sips squeezes his eyes shut as blackness starts to coat his vision and coax him into a sleep he won’t wake up from.

_Is this what it’s like? When Smith drowns people? Nah, I’m certainly not getting fucked to death...damn. What a way to die._

Blood is trailing through the water like cigarette smoke, and the last of Sips’ strength saps from his limbs.

Darkness cloaks over him.

  

* * *

  

Trott winces as he pushes open the sliding door, the sun hitting his eyes. The air immediately feels sticky and he stalls in the air-conditioned house for a few more moments before stepping out onto the patio.

“Sips, mate, we’re here." He moves closer to the pool with an armful of towels and a bottle of sunscreen in hand. Ross and Smith trail not far behind him bringing snacks and an inflatable shark.

There’s a pink inflatable raft skimming the surface of the pool... “Sips?” Trott steps closer to look down into the water.

His eyes widen behind his sunglasses, and the bottle of sunscreen in his hands slips from his fingers to clatter to the concrete.

_Oh god. Sips. Oh god._

There’s blood in the water, and Sips is at the bottom, not moving. The selkie is frozen in place, gaping and panicking.

He hears Ross gasp in a breath behind him, and then a splash blocks his vision as Smith swan-dives in.

_Oh god, Sips. How did- Who- please don’t be-_

The kelpie picks Sips up by the waist and lifts him up towards the surface of the water.

Ross is kneeling by the side of the pool and Trott is joining him as they pull Sips out.

“Fuck, Sips! Shit!” Smith yells as he climbs dripping from the pool.

Trott grabs at Sips’ arm to feel for a pulse, and there’s one there, thank god, but it’s weak. His skin is too cold, and the gunshot wound in his shoulder is bleeding profusely.

The baseball hat crown is still on his head, plastered to it because it’s soaking wet. And for a moment, Trott looks, really looks at Sips, leant against Ross’ chest.

He looks too bony, too old, too fragile. His skin is so pale it’s as if he never saw the sun and his limbs so thin that it’s a marvel that he eats as much as they do.

He’s too mortal. Too breakable and human.

The selkie snaps into action as Sips starts coughing up pool water. “We’ve got to get him to the hospital. Ross, carry him, Smith, drive.”

“The hos-”

“ _We have no choice, now let’s move_.” He grabs the beach towels as they run to the car, and sits in the back keeping pressure on the gunshot wound. Smith drives so fast his tires squeal and the car rattles in its frame. Sips is breathing, but unresponsive.

 _Never again_. Trott promises, his hands shaking and his eyes locked on the blood soaking through the towels. _Never again_.

  

* * *

  

It's the first and only time they ever go to the hospital.

Smith kicks open the door and Ross carries Sips inside. Trott marches up to the first nurse he sees, grabs her by the collar of her scrubs, and snarls that if they don’t fix Sips he will personally murder every single health worker in the building. The young woman is terrified but sends Sips off to surgery immediately.

The rest of his court sits in the hall of the room Sips will be transferred to when he’s out of the ER. The nursing staff leaves them well enough alone, only asking once if they could do anything for them while they were waiting and getting the darkest glare from the selkie.

Trott paces up and down the hall in his bare feet. He had been wearing sandals but kicked them off before they got to the hospital- they’re terrible for running and no one wants to hear the squeak and flip-flop of cheap sandals right now.

Smith fidgets with his keys, bounces his leg, taps his shoes. Does everything he can to refrain from sitting still. Leans over in the cheap plastic seating in the hospital hall and pulls at the meager beard on his face.

Ross just sits, immovable, with his tail curled around the hem of Smith's pants on the leg that isn't bouncing. He tracks the movement of Trott's feet across the linoleum.

His fingers rub over the embroidered crown on Sips’ hat. It’s still damp. He wrung it out on the Emergency Room floor as he watched them wheel Sips away on a gurney. There’s a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach and he feels as if he’s drawn tight as a bow string.

Waiting.

Waiting should be a sin.

Not that it would stop it from happening.

  
When Sips is finally out of surgery, Trott has finished pacing, and Smith has stopped fidgeting. Their king sleeps peacefully, hurt but bandaged and given plenty of painkillers. Trott and Smith decide to get what sleep they can. The exhaustion shows heavily in their faces.

Ross lets them sleep, and slips Sips’ crown back on his head.

He can’t seem to sleep himself. Sleep was never something he needed, just something he got used to and adapted to feeling over the course of his time living with Smith and Trott.

He isn’t sure if he actually feels tired, but besides that, he doesn’t want to sleep here. Something about the hospital irks him, gets under his skin. He’s never been in one until now, but the white walls, heavy smell of bleach, beeping noises, and the circumstances just make him feel...uncomfortable.

It’s too clean of a place that deals with things such as death.

It reminds him a little of some scripture about heaven he’d heard a long, long time ago. And he doesn’t think this place fits.

If heaven is a hospital he’s not sure he’d be content.

****

The gargoyle wanders the quiet halls, hiding from the night nurses, and reading the signs on the walls.

He somehow finds himself at the hospital chapel. Ross almost misses the sign at first, skimming it over before moving on to the next door. But then the word “chapel” sparks in his brain and he back-tracks.

The door’s unlocked when he tries it, because of course it is, it’s a chapel. The room is small, with old wood paneling and cream-white walls. The floor is the same linoleum as everywhere else, but there’s a pew, and a cross on the wall, and paintings of the Virgin Mary and Saint Raphael the Archangel, patron saint of healing. There’s also a stained glass window depicting the Lord’s prayer, which draws Ross’ attention the most.

It’s a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, with elaborate roses and golden Celtic knotwork. It makes the gargoyle feel almost homesick. But his thoughts instead go to his mortal king of the trash court.

Ross sits down next to the stained glass window and offers up a prayer for his court. To a God that he sometimes isn’t sure is listening to a fallen statue like him, a God that he knows cares but that he has never seen. A God he’s not sure he’s worthy for, with the company he keeps and the things he’s done.

He misses the beauty of the church but he doesn’t miss the loneliness. And he’s thankful for the safety and health of his court. That Sips will be okay again.

To lose them now would be to lose his heart, and if he had to choose their lives over his, he would.

Ross sits in silent thought until the sun comes up. The light filters through the stained glass, highlighting the words of the Lord’s prayer.

_Give us this day our daily bread,_

_and forgive us our trespasses,_

_as we forgive those who trespass against us._

_And lead us not into temptation,_

_but deliver us from evil._

_Amen._

The gargoyle whispers the words to himself in the room as it becomes brighter and brighter.

He stands up and brushes some dust from his hands. For a minute he waits there, enjoying the beauty of the window.

“...Thanks.” He mumbles thoughtfully. He feels sort of silly, saying it out loud. But it feels right.

Ross goes back to Sips, Trott, and Smith with the sun warm on his back and a small, weary smile. ****

  

* * *

  

Trott sits by the side of Sips’ bed, hand clasped in his. The sun is leaking in through the blinds, lighting on the gold embroidery of Sips’ hat, completely dry again, back on his head.

The selkie feels relieved that they have their king back but also terribly miserable. Sips is awake, barely; somewhat out of it because of the painkillers. But his eyes are smiling as he squints in the light at Smith and Ross, who are passed out on the floor near the door like sleeping sentinels.

“Guess things turned out okay, eh?” He murmurs.

Trott brings Sips’ hand to his lips shakily and brushes his lips against the knuckles. “You almost died, Sips.” He whispers. He squeezes his eyes shut and leans into the mortal’s touch as his king strokes his hand across his cheek.

“I didn’t, though. Not this time.”

“I don’t want there to _be_ a next time.” Trott chokes with a ragged breath. Tears form in the corner of his eyes and drip off the ends of his eyelashes. Sips brushes them away as if it was nothing.

“Kiss me.” Sips commands.

He leans over the rails of the bed and presses his lips hard to Sips’, trying to say everything he can’t. He’s careful to avoid Sips’ shoulder, the bandages all too evident, and instead keeps his balance by clenching his fists into the dry, starchy hospital sheets.

When their kiss breaks Sips strokes Trott’s cheek again, staring deeply into his eyes.

“I know you don’t want to hear this...but I’m mortal, Trott. We all know it. I’m not exactly getting any younger, either.”

“Stop. _Shut up_.”

“I may not have died today, and I’m grateful for it...but my death is inevitable.”

“I don’t want to think about that.” Trott punches the words from his chest bitterly. “Not right now, not ever.” He feels as if he’s young again in that moment, defying his parents and fighting his kin.

But the king of his court only looks at him in understanding.

“Fuckin’ hell, I know, Trott. I know.” His voice wavers.

_I’m just as scared as you are._

_But there’s nothing we can do._

Trott turns his head away, stares into the sun as if to burn the memories from his eyes. Sips’ body face down at the bottom of the pool. Ice cold when they pulled him from it.

He stares harder, making spots dance in his vision, and then looks away again. He hears Smith stirring, the kelpie groaning and cracking his back as he stretches.

“Hey there, sunshine.” Trott leaves Sips’ side and walks over and pulls his selkie skin off of them. He tightens it around his waist again. “I’m going to find a nurse, see when we can get out of here.”

“Sooner the better.” Smith grumbled, standing up and rubbing his face tiredly.

“Watch over Sips while I’m gone. I won’t be long.” He moved past Smith to the door.

“ _Sips_?”

“Ey, Smiffy.” Sips chuckled quietly as the kelpie scrambled over to him.

Trott turned away, hiding his face and wanting to scream. All the worry was gone, replaced fully by the anger that someone tried to drown his king. He brushed Ross’ shoulder affectionately as he left the room, and could swear he felt Ross’ tail rub against his ankle in response. But all too soon the comfort was gone and he was walking down the hall, away from those he couldn’t bear to see hurt.

 

**Author's Note:**

> shock is a chemical thrown in pools to get rid of algae  
> I picture Sips’ mansion like one of the houses in GTAV, the one with the horse-shoe shaped drive?
> 
> thank you so much for those of you who gave kudos on the headcanon ^^!  
> really hope you guys like the finished version of it. (and if you don't, well, I'd love to see what you come up with)  
> I'm really glad I completed this.  
> There are more fics in this same storyline, or universe? not sure what to call it, but there will be more connecting to this one. I've got a couple finished already, and eventually I'll link all of them in a series, so keep an eye out for that ^^, if you're interested.


End file.
